A Piece of Cake
by LittleLotte17
Summary: A short Solas/Lavellan drabble at the Winter palace involving silliness and...cake. Now with part 2 because I am too lazy to make a new story.
1. Chapter 1

"Solas," the Inquisitor whispered to him out of the corner of her mouth, leaning towards him slightly. She was staring down at the opulent gold encrusted dessert plate the servants hand set before her a few minutes ago with a suspicious little squint, obviously trying her best not to frown. For someone the Orlesian nobles had been all too happy about calling a savage in hushed tones a few hours ago, Aili had been rather deftly winding them around her little finger throughout the course of the night. A heathen Dalish apostate she may be, but she was also powerful and intelligent…and beautiful. It was a potent combination; one that Solas himself had fallen prey to, despite his better judgment. He knew she would laugh and complain about how out of her depth she felt later, but she could have easily mastered these fops and their 'Great Game' if she'd had a mind to. He doubted that it would have sat well with her gentle nature however, which was just one more reason to love her. He smiled, and inclined his head slightly in a show of deference like a good 'man servant'.

"Yes, My Lady?" He asked. She blinked at him in surprise, clearly having forgotten the role he had assumed for the evening. Making sure her movements where obscured by the tablecloth, she reached over an placed a hand on his thigh.

"_I like 'Vehnan' better_," she told him in Elvhen, apology shining in her eyes and a slight curl of mischief on her lips.

"_As do I_," he assured her warmly, also switching to the ancient language of their race. He moved his hand to cover hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. "_Did you need something from me?_"

"_A dangerous question_," she commented with a truly wicked grin, but then she gave her plate another dubious glance. "_What __**is**__ that?_"

He looked over at her plate and then back to her face, confused. "_Do you mean the cake_?"

"_Is that cake?_" Aili asked, scrunching her face at it a bit. "_Why is it the color of shit?_" Solas gave a snort of laughter despite himself, earning the curious glances of a few nobles seated across from them. The Inquisitor gave them a winning smile and complimented one of the ladies on her atrocious choice of headwear.

"_Vehnan_," he called her attention back to him a few moments later, giving her a long searching look, "_Can it be that you have never tried chocolate?_"

"_That's a…sweet, right?_" She asked, rolling her eyes at his startled expression, "_I was raised out in the woods remember? We didn't have __**bread**__ half the time. There is no place for an oven in an aravel, and when we traded with humans it wasn't for things like fancy Orlesian desserts._"

"_Perhaps you should have,_" he said with a smirk, taking a small bite of his own piece of cake, "_it is delicious_." She looked unconvinced.

"_Why does this feel like a trap?_" Aili asked him with a raised brow, "_You just want me to eat something gross so you can laugh at the face I make._"

"_I am not Sera_." He told her, mildly affronted. "_Are __**all**__ Dalish this suspicious?_"

"Fine," the Dalish mage grumbled, slipping back into Common. She scooped the tiniest bit of cake possible onto her dessert fork before shooting him a distrustful glare and muttering, "Ass."

"_You like my ass._" He reminded her in Elvhen, his grin victorious. The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at him and laughed.

After one last glance of suffering, Aili scrunched her eyes closed and licked the morsel of chocolate off of her utensil. Her face instantly shifted into an expression of pleased surprise, and she quickly shoveled a larger bite of the dessert into her mouth. Her astonishment quickly melted into complete bliss as her eyelids fluttered closed again and she moaned quietly in the back of her throat. The rest of the cake disappeared shortly afterwards.

"Creators," she said, her voice low and rasping, clearly unaware of how quiet the conversation around them had become, "This…this food might be better than sex."

Farther down the table, Varric gave a loud bark of amusement as several Orlesian nobles broke into a flurry of diverted titters and scandalized whispering. The male elf could practically feel Josephine's horrified expression as she quickly tried to placate the ruffled feathers of the dignitaries surrounding her. Cullen was chuckling quietly and Leliana was wearing a knowing smile. Cassandra had simply buried her face in her hands, though he couldn't tell if it was to hide her mortification or her laughter.

Solas glanced back at Aili, who had flushed a bright shade of red all the way to the tips of her pointed ears. She blinked her wide violet eyes up at him pleadingly, clearly humiliated and practically frantic for a way to escape the situation. There was chocolate smeared across the corner of her mouth. He smiled warmly as small huff of laughter broke past his lips. He didn't know if he had ever loved her more.

"My Lady," he said gently, making sure to speak just loud enough for their neighbors to hear. "I believe," he reached over to her with a napkin in his hand, "you have a dirty mouth." He wiped at the area in question, causing the nobles around them to break out into another round of sniggers and guffaws. Aili stared at him for a moment, still trying to process what had just happened, before bursting out with a laugh of her own.

The Inquisitor raised her glass of champagne towards the head of the table where Empress Celene was seated and called up to her, "My compliments to the chef, your Majesty!" To which the Empress smiled faintly and gave a nod of her head in affirmation, and the rest of the table erupted in applause. When their noise had subsided, Aili found Solas' hand again beneath the table and gave his fingers a grateful squeeze.

"Ma Serannas," She breathed, still blushing slightly. He shifted his hand so that their fingers were interlocking.

"But of course, My Lady Inquisitor." he answered quietly, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. His smile turned wolfish as he switched back into Elvhen, "_Though I believe a thorough investigation is required regarding your claims that this dessert was better than our love making._"

"Ma Nuvenin," Aili responded, biting her lower lip and gazing at him hungrily. After a moment, she broke into a fit of quiet giggles and added, "_You would make a terrible man servant._"


	2. Chapter 2 Shall we dance?

Aili heard Solas take a sharp breath through his nose as she trod on his foot for what was probably at least the fourth time. She winced before glancing down at her feet, trying to keep time with the music without tripping all over herself. These Shem dances were so clunky, and the thigh high boots she had been forced into were not helping matters.

"Sorry," she told him with a sympathetic grin. "Apparently, I am only good at courtly intrigue when it involves smiling at people as they insult me, climbing garden trellises, and breaking into rooms no one is supposed to be in. If closing rifts required me to waltz, I'd be seriously concerned about the future of Thedas."

"Dancing with Duchess Florianne did not seem too difficult for you," Solas noted, his voice a mix of mild exasperation mingled with amusement.

"I was leading," she explained sheepishly. "That made it easier to hide the times I stepped on her dress. That dip I did at the end wasn't _actually_ supposed to happen. Luckily, I caught her before she hit the floor."

"Is that so?" Solas laughed. "I was about to be flattered by the notion that all this flailing might be induced by your current partner."

"Oh, believe me, that is definitely part of it," Aili flashed him a smirk, "though I'm probably distracted by your interesting choice of headwear more than anything else. Its ridiculousness makes it hard to focus on dancing."

"I like this hat," he said defensively, his brow furrowing slightly.

"You sound like Cole," she said with a snort of laughter. "Did he help you pick it out?"

"_No_." He frowned at her, but there was a distinct sparkle of mirth dancing in his eyes. "I told you, it is the helmet of-"

"I know, I know," she chuckled as she cut him off. "You and your quiet rebellions, silently mocking our gracious hosts." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few suggestions," he informed her helpfully, quirking his lips into a roguish grin. She rewarded him with a laugh, but the distraction also caused her to step on his foot again, making him grunt in mild pain.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Solas," she said through her giggles. "I'd offer you a kiss as an apology, but I'm afraid your hat might stab me in the eye."

"Perhaps later, then," he suggested warmly. "The helmet is an obstacle easily removed, but it would be scandalous for the Inquisitor to be seen fraternizing with her serving man."

"Nonsense!" she replied, with a falsely affronted air. "What do you think an elven serving man _does_ in Orlais?" Aili waggled her eyebrows at him. "He is there to service his mistress's _every_ whim." He laughed and shook his head at her.

"When did you become such a minx?" he asked, pretending to be shocked as he slid his arm more securely around her waist. "I could have sworn that less than a month ago, you were blushing every time I glanced in your general direction."

"I must be learning from someone," she replied smilingly, stepping even closer than the dance required. "Is it a bad thing?"

"Not at all," he assured her in a low voice, leaning down to kiss her.

"A-_hem_!" A nasally voice interrupted them from the doorway before their lips could touch. A barrel-chested man with a well-developed paunch that could not be completely held in check by his richly embroidered doublet was standing there with a sneer that could not be obscured by the opulent mask he wore. He offered Aili a frilly little half bow, which somehow still managed to seem arrogant.

"My Lady Inquisitor," he began in a simpering tone, "there is no need for someone as beautiful as you to end the evening dancing with a servant."

It took every last scrap of social grace Aili had to step out of Solas' arms in order to answer the nobleman's bow with a slight curtsy. It was a little thing, but she hated the knee-bending, especially here, the place where her people were supposed to have built their own nation, and especially to fat useless men who had never thought beyond their own personal gain and when the next meal was going to be served. She forced a smile.

"You flatter me-" she began, hoping the man couldn't discern how badly she wanted to tell him to go shove his head into a privy.

"Vicomte Jean Renald de Bouchard," he interjected in a grandiose manner that clearly indicated that he expected her to know who he was. There was a pregnant pause as Aili scrambled to think whether there was some reason this man could be of some importance to the Inquisition. She drew a blank.

"You are very kind, My Lord, but…I'm afraid I have already promised this dance to my friend here," she informed the Vicomte in a tone that she prayed came off as diplomatic and disinterested.

"To a nameless serving man with terrible taste in clothing?" the noble scoffed. "Do be serious, My Lady. Despite your unfortunate origins, you are now a woman of rank and respectability. You have won peace for Orlais this evening, and rallied a great number of allies to your cause. Do not ruin it over something as ridiculous as consorting with the help."

"Solas is-" Aili started hotly.

"More than willing to release you from our engagement, My Lady," he said smoothly, bringing her hand to his lips and giving her a meaningful look. "We shall have to save our dance for a less auspicious evening."

"Quite right," the Vicomte sniffed haughtily, oblivious to the coldness in the elven man's eyes as he passed him the Inquisitor's hand.

She allowed Vicomte de Bouchard to lead her away a few steps, but then she hesitated, biting her lip as she looked back over her shoulder. Solas' face would have looked almost expressionless to a stranger, but it was plain to Aili that he was just as indignant as she was about having one of their few moments of romance spoiled by some fop with an inflated sense of self-importance. Her lover was not typically one for jealousy, but his hands were clenched at his sides and his blue eyes burned into her, wanting. He was too controlled to act on his desires, but that didn't mean that _she_ had to be.

Aili wrenched herself free of the Vicomte and strode imperiously back towards Solas with her head held high. He furrowed his brows and shook his head at her minutely, trying to signal her to stop, but she ignored him, walking right up to him and yanking off his pointy helmet in one smooth movement. She lobbed the offending headwear over the banister and out into the night and, before he had a moment to complain, she grabbed Solas' face with both hands and kissed him soundly.

Solas gave a surprised grunt, the Vicomte gasped noisily in offense, and a distant splash followed closely by a startled shriek sounded from somewhere in the garden below them. Adapting quickly, as he always seemed to, Solas wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer, a pleased hum rumbling up from his throat as she slid her tongue into his mouth. The nobleman let loose a string of rapid disgusted-sounding phrases in Orlesian as he stomped back into the ballroom. Solas broke from their kiss with a breathless laugh.

"That was...less than subtle," he snorted in mild disbelief, a wide smile scrawled across his features. "Josephine will be lecturing you for weeks to come."

"Perhaps," she admitted with a blush and a toothy grin, "but was it worth it? Now we can dance the rest of the evening." He leaned down and kissed her again.

"Then I suppose it is fortunate I am wearing closed-toe shoes." he said glibly. Aili laughed, and lightly knocked the toes of their boots together.

"At least they're good for something."


End file.
